


According To Plan

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2019 [17]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Whumptober Day 17: "Stay with me"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Noctis comes home.





	According To Plan

He steps outside the portal, crusted in old and new blood alike, and for a moment all he’s capable of doing is staring. It certainly looks like Insomnia - his Insomnia, not the other place, with it’s silent, cold set of ruins and the corpse of a man Noctis can still feel the warmth of. It all looks so real, just the way he remembers it from before his disappearance. Before he was swept up, taken… to the other Eos. 

He takes first, one step, then another, out of the alleyway he’s found himself in. It’s dark out, evening setting in, the sun still glimmering off the highest buildings. The darkness sends a shiver down Noctis’ spine, because it means the daemons will come soon. Then again, with Ardyn dead, they might not. He’s fulfilled the job, after all. Killed the one responsible for all the death, all the destruction.

But then again, illusion or not, the daemons have never failed to find him. And he isn’t dead, so the cycle isn’t complete. The sun he’s seeing is just… an illusion. An old memory. He’s still trapped in the dark Insomnia of the past, unable to go home. Unwilling to die for Gods that are not his. To fix their problems.

Footsteps, close by. Noctis looks up.

The ghost of Nyx Ulric, coat slung over a shoulder like he’s just gotten off of work, stares at him in something like muffled shock. Nyx has always had a very quiet way about panicking, about reacting to something surprising around him. Noctis blinks at the illusion, and gives a little wave. It can’t hurt - it’s not like anyone’s watching him. “Hey hero.”

“ _ Noctis? _ ” Nyx’s ghost looks him up and down, looks at the sword in his hand, still coated in Ardyn’s lifeblood, and meets his eyes. “You alright there, Little Highness?”

Noctis shrugs. “It’s been… nevermind.”

“Alright. Anything you wanna talk about? Tell me? It’s been a minute since we’ve seen each other, you know.” He steadily edges closer as he talks, moving slowly enough for Noctis to track if it suits him. Noctis remembers when he was taught to do that, when Nyx showed him the right posture and then ordered him to  _ stalk his target.  _ It had been fun, especially at the end because Nyx let him warp into him and pretended to die. 

At least it’s a good memory he’s being haunted by. “Mm. Killed Ardyn.”

Nyx pauses. “Oh?” 

“Mmhmm. It was hard, but I did it. Just like Bahamut told me to. Except now I’m supposed to do the same - die that is. And I really don’t want to.”

“Good. That’s--that’s good, Noct. Hey, why don’t you and I take a walk back to the Citadel, tell your dad the good news?”

Noctis blinks. “The Citadel’s in ruins. And plus, I don’t know where they buried him. I’m sure he’s got more important things to do in his afterlife than listen to his son talk about the man he killed.”

“...yeah well, you never know. Maybe he’s got some advice, or something.” Nyx is looking a little pale now; evidently the illusion is losing its grip. Or Noctis’ sanity is coming back. Hard to say, really. “But erm. I’m sure he’s got something for you. And I know where he’s... buried.”

“...That’s right. You were there, fighting Glauca when he died. You saw him die.”

Nyx nods. “Yeah. Yeah. So, to the Citadel?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Could you put the sword away first?”

“The daemons, Nyx. You might be dead, but I’m not. They’ll rip me limb from limb if I don’t keep my weapons at the ready.” Nevermind that these aren’t the run-of-the-mill daemons Uncle Ardyn and Uncle Somnus had dealt with every so often. No, these daemons made  _ those  _ daemons look like children’s drawings. 

Ardyn had truly put his all into ensuring nobody would live through the Long Night - not even the original Noctis slated for the job of putting them both to rest.

But a Noctis outside his scope of influence? A Noctis coming from a world where there was no war with Niflheim, where his ancestors were good, benevolent people instead of raging psychopaths bent on revenge? That was an entirely different ballgame. 

Nyx leads him the way back towards the Citadel, avoiding most of the traffic he sees in the distance. Noctis makes no comment as they walk, listening to the world around him and feeling an old pang of loss - even after all this time, it still hurts to think that he won’t ever come home again. He won’t see his dad or the actual Nyx. All he has left are the ghosts.

The Citadel itself stands as tall as ever, the guards inside vigilant, not a few heads turning as Nyx walks in. Eyes go wide, mouths open, but Nyx shakes his head and moves faster, and so Noctis moves with him, listening always for daemons on his tail. 

They enter the rooms of his late father, and it’s set up just like Noctis remembers. The desk, in the center of the living area. The bed, off to the side. The bathroom, on the left, right next to the bookcase. The lamps, dotting the area, and the massive window behind the desk that offers a view of the city sprawled beneath them.

And there, standing behind the desk, staring with wide eyes, is his father.

Clarus, Cor, Weskham, Cid, Ardyn and Somnus. The men Noctis knows from two lifetimes surround his father, all staring at him as the silence drags on.

Nyx is the one to break it. “Your Majesty. I’ve brought him home.”

“Is it really him though?” Somnus demands, voice loud. Noctis blinks tired eyes and looks at him.

“Good to see you’re still an asshole.”

Ardyn laughs, hurriedly raising a hand to his mouth to turn it into a cough as Somnus whirls on him. “Swallowed wrong,” he smiles in the face of Somnus’ ire. “Apologies.”

“You made it,” Noctis says, some part of his soul worn down, but still happy. “Good. I’m sorry it took me so long, Ardyn. I’m sorry for a lot of things.” He bows his head. “Forgive me.”

Ardyn frowns at him. “Noctis, what are you talking about?”

“Where have you been?” Regis whispers, as he hobbles around the table, movements jerky and unevent. “I thought I’d lost you forever.  _ Where did you go?” _

“Huh,” Noctis says, as Regis embraces him. “Does this mean I’m dead, then?”

“What?” Somnus demands, looking between Ardyn and Regis. “What on earth is he babbling about?”

“I killed Ardyn, like Bahamut said to. But I didn’t take the throne and let you kill me.” Noctis pushes his father away, enough to look him on the face. “Ghosts shouldn’t be able to touch me, so does that mean I’m dead?”

Around him, the collection of faces are painted in various shades of alarm or rapidly clearing confusion.

“Bahamut told you to kill me?” Ardyn asks, slowly. He meets Somnus’ gaze; something passes between them. “I take it it was not  _ our  _ Bahamut, because I know for the fact the Bladekeeper of  _ this  _ plane--”

“--would never raise a blade against a Lucis Caelum,” Somnus finishes slowly, eyes narrowing as he turns back to Noctis. “I will-- wait. Noctis, are bleeding?”

Something is trickling from his nose. A smell of rot and blood wafts through the room, and Cid grasps the back of Regis and hauls him away just as Cor bellows, “ _ Scourge!” _

He’s tackled, driven to the ground by Ardyn’s bulk just as something in Noctis’ lungs  _ cracks,  _ and suddenly black bile is winding its way up his throat, out of his mouth, even as he feels it burying itself deeper in the soft tissue of his lungs and stomach. 

“No!” Ardyn bellows, family magics burning, searing as he rips Noctis’ shirt open, slapping hands against his chest, “NO, you will  _ not  _ take him! Stay with me, Noctis! Stay with me!”

He’s choking, violently writhing, and Cor and Clarus dive to the ground beside him to pin his arms as Ardyn frantically pushes holy magic through his channels, Somnus dashing around to grab Noctis’ head and hold it tight between his hands. Weskham, Nyx and Cid put themselves between Noctis and Regis, but over their shoulders Noctis can still see his father’s pale blue eyes, wide and wet.

It’s that lone image that brings his reality home, that shatters the false truth he wrapped himself in. He isn't in the ruins any longer. He’s home. He’s actually home, and Ardyn has gotten in one last  _ fuck you,  _ and now he’s choking on it, and if his uncle can’t dig it out in time--

His airways close around that time and Noctis wheezes desperately, his thrashings drawing short as he fights to conserve what precious little oxygen he has. Ardyn is hissing ancient words beneath his breath, the veins standing out in his neck and forehead. He looks animalistic, positively feral as he fights a battle he’s fought a thousand times before. 

Against his efforts, tears slip out of Noctis’ closed eyes. He can feel himself getting lightheaded, dizzy with the inability to breathe. 

“No, no,  _ stay with me,  _ damnit!”

It feels like there’s tar inside him, clogging him up. He feels so full of it it almost makes him seem leaden, can see the mass writhing beneath his skin in his stomach moving around as it burrows ever deeper. 

“Go get Aera,” Somnus orders, and he sounds furious, shaken. Noctis hears boots on the ground, the door slamming open as Nyx warps away. The last vision he has is of his father, hidden behind Weskham, tears streaking down his face as he watches his son asphyxiate on the curse of his favorite uncle’s other-world double.

The world winks in and out of existence, Noctis’ eyes sliding closed despite his uncle’s desperate pleading above him. It seems despite his best efforts, Bahamut is determined to claim his win. Noctis, only human, unable to stop him. In the darkness there is nothing but a slow heartbeat growing ever-slower. In a way, it’s almost like falling asleep.

And then holy magic punches through him, the kind of purity nobody but a Mils Fleuret would have, and Noctis screams as everything is abruptly brought up, expelled out of him. He’s rolled, no longer pinned but free, and Aera keeps tight hands on him as he vomits, again and again and again, black bile against the dark blue carpet of his father’s rooms. 

It drags on for an eternity, and then at last it’s over, and like a puppet with his strings cut Noctis collapses, shivering, beside the mess, eyes rolling as he sinks into oblivion.


End file.
